


The Twists and Turns of Fate

by themysteriousinternetentity



Series: Life's a Journey [2]
Category: Girl Genius (Webcomic)
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, F/M, Panic Attacks, Self-Insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2019-08-11 00:49:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16465526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themysteriousinternetentity/pseuds/themysteriousinternetentity
Summary: He leaned back and grinned a showman’s grin. “Truly a good sign, an Angel of Fate showing up at the onset of my reign. Go on then, do you have a prophecy for us?”“I do, but remember I will not be able to give information whenever you demand. I serve powers greater than even a Lightning King.” Outraged mutters broke out at her audacity, but Andronicus merely nodded.She locked eyes with him as she declared: “The threads of Fate are ever changing and much depends on the choices you make, but know this Andronicus Valois—your rule will be remembered for centuries.”





	1. Chapter 1: In Which Timothea Arrives and Meets the Storm King

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Gift of the Dreen](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16448273) by [phoenixyfriend](https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenixyfriend/pseuds/phoenixyfriend). 



> Based off of phoenixyfriend's "The Gift of the Dreen," which is linked above. This takes place 200 years earlier in the same universe. Read that one for a better explanation of how dreen-gifts work, (and also because it's excellent and her idea!), but basically the Dreen say "we want to meddle in the timeline through innocent humans," yank someone from a world where Europa is fictional, and dump them in Europa to cause all sorts of twists.  
>  _Throughout this fic, italics indicate a language other than the main one in use in the area_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit:  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Girl Genius and make no claims of such. I write fic for fun and to show my love for the comic. I make no money off of this and do not want to. My works are not approved by, sponsored by or affiliated with Studio Foglio LLC or Airship Entertainment.

The sun lay low in the sky over the beautiful French countryside as a procession of travel-clanks headed west. As they turned a corner, those sitting in the first clank quickly hit the brakes to avoid running into the people standing in the middle of the dirt road. Duke Tomas Strinbeck climbed out just in time to hear one of two large men snarl at the girl between them.  
  
“What do you mean, you don’t have any money? You trying to hide the goods? Think you can lie to us?”  
  
The girl raised her hands by her head, eyes wide. “I…no. I three days not have _food_ , I have no money. Promise. Not false.”  
  
“Well then,” the man snarled, “guess you aren’t any use to us!” Before Tomas could do more than take a half-step forward, he’d buried a knife into the girl’s stomach.  
  
Or…he’d tried to.  
  
The moment the tip of the blade would have punctured her skin, she _changed_. The air seemed to fill with some sort of energy, and Tomas watched in shock as the girl’s body shifted. In strange starts and stops, each part of her somehow disconnected, she grew almost transparent. Not only that, but the would-be thief fell _through her_. A victim of his own momentum, he rolled head over heels, narrowly avoiding stabbing his own leg. The girl came back into focus and quickly backed away.  
  
“Please, no! Cannot-” Tomas shook himself, drew his sword, and stepped in front of the girl.  
  
“I think you had better be going,” he told the thugs sternly. “Before you give me any further reason to want your heads removed from your bodies.”  
  
The men looked at the sword, the large clanks, and the very angry nobleman, and made the intelligent decision (possibly for the first time in their lives).  
  
Once he was sure they’d made themselves scarce, he turned back to the girl and bowed his head. “It is an honor to meet one of those chosen by the Dreen. I am Duke Tomas Strinbeck, traveling with my family to pledge my support to the Storm King and join his court. Is there anything I can do to aid you in your quest, whatever that may be?”  
  
The girl blinked, then began to speak slowly. “I am Timmie. Timothea Turner. You are…” she huffed in frustration. “ _Do you speak English by any chance?_ ”  
  
Tomas nodded. “ _Yes, I am familiar with Albia’s tongue._ ”  
  
Timothea sighed in relief, then began speaking very quickly. “ _Oh, thank goodness. I am trying to learn French but it is very difficult for me. You said you are going to the court of the Storm King, Andronicus?_ ”  
  
“ _Yes, I will pledge my loyalty to the Shining Coalition, and he has promised me a position as one of his loyal Knights of Jove._ ”  
  
Timothea grinned. “ _Wonderful. I am needed at his court. If you take me there I will be very grateful._ ”  
  
Tomas looked at the bedraggled, half-starved girl in front of him and grinned. “ _Of course, my lady. It would be an honor to present you to the King._ ” A Dreen-gift showing up so soon after Andronicus’ coronation was surely an excellent omen- and being the one to bring her would cement his position in court, not to mention how useful her favor could be. “ _If you would follow me? My wife will have some clothing more appropriate for court._ ”  
  
  
oOo  
  
  
Andronicus sighed as yet another nobleman came forth to present himself. This had been going on for a good two hours, and he just wanted to stretch his legs. He made a note to order a more comfortable cushion for his throne. His legs were nearly numb.  
  
Making sure to keep his face clear of frustration, he went through the motions to accept the latest Duke’s allegiance and swear him in as one of his Knights. When this one finished, however, he remained kneeling in front of Andronicus, instead of falling back to allow the Earl behind him his chance with the King.  
  
“Is there something else, Duke Strinbeck?” Andronicus asked impatiently.  
  
“Yes, if your majesty permits it. I came across someone on the journey here who I believe will be of significant interest to you.”  
  
Andronicus sighed, and waved his hand negligently. “Go on then, get up and introduce him.”  
  
The Duke rose and fell back a few steps. At a gesture from him a young woman came up and stood beside him. Her hands twisted in her large skirt, betraying her discomfort. The dress also seemed to fit poorly, Andronicus noted.  
  
“May I present Timothea Turner, one of the Dreen-chosen.” She curtsied clumsily, clearly not trained in courtly manners.  
  
“A Dreen-chosen? That is quite the claim, Tomas. Have you proof of her position? There have been enough frauds over the years.”  
  
“Indeed, your majesty. I wouldn’t have believed it myself, I admit, if I hadn’t seen her demonstrate the gift right before my eyes.”  
  
“Is that so?”  
  
“Yes, she was unfortunately being harassed by some scoundrels when we came across her. She made use of the gift to avoid being stabbed. It was just like the books describe, your majesty. I’ve never seen the like before!”  
  
Andronicus turned to the girl. “Have you nothing to say of your own then?”  
  
She bit her lip, then slowly gave what was clearly a rehearsed speech: “My French is unfortunately poor, as I am new to my role here. If your majesty is willing, I can explain myself better in English, but I am most certainly chosen by the Dreen…” she trailed off for a moment, furrowing her brow. Her eyes lit up as she seemed to remember a word, and she quickly finished “to give your majesty the advice I can and bring benefit to your rule.”  
  
Andronicus raised an eyebrow. If they were telling the truth, this could be quite auspicious, but it remained to be seen if she was any more than a commoner being used as a puppet by Strinbeck. “ _Very well then, we can continue the conversation in English._ ”  
  
She nodded. “ _Thank you, your majesty. I do apologize for the inconvenience, I am doing my best to learn quickly._ ”  
  
“ _It is no difficulty. A King must be able to communicate with leaders from many countries. I am fluent in five languages myself, and expect as much from my court._ ”  
  
“ _That is very wise of you, sir. Was there anything in particular you wished to ask of me?_ ”  
  
“ _Do you understand my concerns?_ ”  
  
“ _Ah…yes. You do not know me, and I come claiming to have knowledge and guidance for you. This could easily be the plot of someone wishing to influence you for their own designs. I am afraid, however, that I have nothing except my word and my gift, and the gift is nothing I wish to demonstrate unless necessary, as it is very uncomfortable and would likely require someone to make an attempt on my life._ ” She eyed him nervously, clearly concerned that he would demand a demonstration.  
  
Andronicus noted Strinbeck biting back an outraged response at the blatant admission that he could have set this up for his own gain. He hadn’t told her to say that, then. Good, that meant she was likely being genuine. She was clever too, although she would need to gain some tact if she wanted to avoid making enemies in court. For now, he would do his best to soothe Strinbeck's ego.  
  
“ _An excellent summary of the situation. However, I have no reason to doubt the word of Duke Strinbeck._ ” He leaned back and grinned a showman’s grin. “ _Truly a good sign, an Angel of Fate showing up at the onset of my reign. Go on then, do you have a prophecy for us?_ ”  
  
“ _I do, but remember I will not be able to give information whenever you demand. I serve powers greater than even a Lightning King._ ” Outraged mutters broke out at her audacity, but Andronicus merely nodded.  
  
She locked eyes with him as she declared: “ _The threads of Fate are ever changing and much depends on the choices you make, but know this Andronicus Valois—your rule will be remembered for centuries._ ”  
  
Cheers broke out, and Andronicus dismissed them with orders to “find Lady Timothea accommodations fitting her position.” As he continued welcoming dukes and earls and princes, he mulled over her words.  
  
_My rule may be remembered, but what will it be remembered **for?**_


	2. In Which Timmie Learns the State of Science and Van Rijn Investigates the Dreen-Chosen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, spoken italics indicate Timmie is speaking English rather than French.
> 
> Edit:  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Girl Genius and make no claims of such. I write fic for fun and to show my love for the comic. I make no money off of this and do not want to. My works are not approved by, sponsored by or affiliated with Studio Foglio LLC or Airship Entertainment.

            Timmie frowned as she turned the page of the book in front of her. One of the palace staff had pointed her towards the library when she asked, and she had been thrilled at first. The hundreds of books were a sight for sore eyes after three months wandering from village to village. She’d eyed the small English section longingly, but was sticking to French in an attempt to improve her ability to communicate. (Bless the librarian, who’d helped her find an English to French dictionary).

 

            Her reading pace was insufferably slow compared to what she was used to, (especially when technical terms came up), but she was shocked when she got through the page in front of her. She’d been so excited to finally gauge where science was at—she missed her family and friends, and was honestly terrified for her life given what she knew the future held, but she was also in a world with _Sparks_.

 

            …In the 17th century of a world with Sparks, that is. Sparks who were still called “Thinkomancers,” and who had yet to firmly separate chemistry and alchemy. Sparks who _hadn’t discovered atoms yet, and thought that the world was made of mercury and sulfur_.

 

            She’d been hoping to maybe get a place helping in a lab somewhere—she couldn’t devote her entire life to flitting about mysteriously and hinting at forbidden knowledge, after all. But at this point…her knowledge might not even apply. If she tried to introduce some of the concepts she knew, she was likely to be laughed out of the room as a silly, uneducated person—if she wasn’t immediately stopped by the Dreen for breaking the timeline.

 

            They’d made it very clear what would happen if she tried to share too much. That was not a line she wanted to test. Especially not for something like this, not when so many more important things were going to come up in the future.

 

            Still, the information in the book was absolutely fascinating, if completely inaccurate. She’d never taken the time to study the history of chemistry, and she could see the seeds of modern knowledge scattered throughout the strange, sometimes mystical theories. “Hah!” she chuckled to herself. “Mercury, sulfur, and salt _indeed_. _Well, they’re sort of right…I wonder how long til they figure out how many elements there really are._ ” She flipped to the next page and continued reading, then stopped short and set the book down a bit too forcefully. “Sorry!” she apologized when the librarian glared at her. “I will be more careful.” Her apology was accepted with a tense nod, but she spoke up again before the man could return to his work. “Are there books about… _toxicology?_ ”

 

            The man frowned. “‘Toxicology?’ I’ve never heard that word.”

 

            Timmie pursed her lips in thought. “Um. How safe a science is. What is…agh, poison? And hurts.”

 

            His eyes lit up in realization. “Oh! We have a comprehensive book on various toxic plants and poisons, I can get it for you if you’d like?”

 

            She took a minute to puzzle through the sentence before replying. “Does it talk about mercury?”

 

            He frowned. “Why would it? People don’t die from mercury.” Timmie put her head in her hands and sighed deeply.

 

            “Thank you, but I will finish this book first.”

 

            “Of course, my lady. Just let me know if you change your mind.” He went back to his desk, and she sat there and thought.

 

            They didn’t know mercury was toxic. In retrospect she should have realized. She knew about how the phrase “mad as a hatter” was connected to mercury poisoning, and that had to have been sometime in the 1700s at the earliest, right?

 

            Still.

 

            There was no way she could just…just sit here with her modern knowledge and let countless scientists, hatmakers, and members of the general population _die_ from something so…so simple.

 

She sighed again, deeper this time. What was it she’d _just_ said to herself? Don’t meddle with scientific progress? Welp. Time to see where the Dreen would draw the line. With a frown, she stood up and stretched.

 

            Maybe she could get permission to watch one of the many sparks in the palace work…she would need to know how things worked in labs here already before she started trying to change things. How was she going to get people to believe her? She was entirely unqualified as far as they knew. Maybe animal testing? She frowned. That was…not something she’d ever wanted to do, but it might be her only choice.

 

            She grabbed her books and headed towards the door. “For science,” she muttered sarcastically under her breath.

 

_

 

            Van Rijn hovered behind a bookshelf, watching as the newest member of the court focused intently on an elementary alchemical text. He’d read up on the Dreen-chosen after Lady Timothea was presented to the court the previous day, and he was intrigued.

 

            If she was what she claimed to be, her very presence here proved that Andronicus’ plans would impact the future of the world. He’d known he was right to remain at the court. Perhaps he should come up with an appropriate gift for-

 

            “Mercury, sulfur, and salt _indeed_. _Well, they’re sort of right…I wonder how long til they figure out how many elements there really are._ ”

 

            Well, that was interesting. That was _very interesting_. He’d considered Timothea a fascinating subject to study, her nature begging to be discovered, but this—this was not the tone of a bored girl skimming an alchemical text to practice her language skills. She seemed to be thinking seriously on what she read.

 

            And dismissing it for some reason. Did the Dreen gift her with scientific knowledge? No, clearly not. She was dismissing foundational concepts—she was either confused, or thought herself smarter than she was. She may be attempting to study seriously, but clearly the girl wasn’t cut out for it. Did she think there were more elements, or fewer? No matter. Van Rijn may not have specialized in alchemy, but he knew how the world worked!

 

            Why, next thing she’d be claiming that there was no phlogiston in wood!

 

            He shook his head, then headed towards the door. He’d seen enough.


	3. In Which Timmie Meets Simon Voltaire and Clears Things Up with the Storm King

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoken italics are English, everything else is French!
> 
> Edit:  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Girl Genius and make no claims of such. I write fic for fun and to show my love for the comic. I make no money off of this and do not want to. My works are not approved by, sponsored by or affiliated with Studio Foglio LLC or Airship Entertainment.

            Timothea frowned as she paced down the hallway in front of her room, muttering under her breath. “ _Deceit-_ deceit. _Peace_ \- peace. _War-_ war.” She’d reached the point where she needed to work on more abstract vocabulary- words she knew would be relevant eventually. “ _Betrayal_ \- betrayal. _Love_ \- love. Oof!” Caught up in trying to remember the words she’d just learned, she’d walked straight into someone.

            “I’m very sorry!” Timothea jumped back and looked up from the chest of the man in front of her…and up…and up. He had to be a good seven feet tall! “I was focusing on new words, and did not look. Are you okay?”

            “Don’t worry about it. I was actually looking for you” the man replied. “ _My name is Simon Voltaire, pleasure to meet you_.”

            She blinked in surprise. Oh. _Oh_. Squinting at his face, she saw the traces of what she’d seen in the comic- much, much younger, and without a trace of cybernetics as of yet. Suddenly she realized that she’d been staring long enough for it to be weird. “ _Timothea, pleased to meet you too. Although I guess you know that if you were looking for me,_ ” she chuckled nervously. “ _What did you need?_ ”

            He blinked, seemingly taken aback. Oh dear, oh dear, she _had_ stared too long hadn’t she. Now he thought she was weird or creepy or-

            “ _You are very direct. How are you settling in here?_ ” Was direct bad? Well, she wasn’t going to be able to be direct about much. It was probably good.

            “ _Pretty well I think. I’m doing my best to learn French, and I’m trying to learn what I can about the sciences as well._ ”

            “ _Oh, really?_ ” He seemed surprised at that. “ _I wouldn’t have thought…well. What are you looking into specifically?_ ”

            “ _Mostly ch—alchemy_ ” Timothea stuttered a bit. Right, not chemistry here. Ugh. “ _I was a student of it…back home. I want to learn what is known here, and how it differs from what I’ve learned._ ”

            “ _Ah, fascinating. I’m a student of mechanics, under Master Van Rijn._ ”

            She grinned. “ _I know._ ”

            Voltaire blinked in surprise. “ _Oh. I didn’t think you’d…well. Don’t the Dreen-chosen only know about important people?_ ”

            Timothea’s smile grew. “ _Don’t you think you’re an important person? You’re Van Rijn’s only apprentice, aren’t you?_ ”

            “ _Well…I guess…but that’s not—I’m sure he’ll take more students in the future. I just pestered him until he agreed to shut me up._ ”

            “ _You underestimate yourself._ ”

            “ _He will take more students, won’t he?_ ”

            She laughed. “ _I’m not sure I can tell you that_.”

            He laughed with her, then grew serious. “ _Is there anything you CAN tell me?_ ”

            Frowning, she replied. “ _Why do you ask?_ ” Voltaire froze.

            “ _Just curious! Um. Master Van Rijn was wondering—dangit.”_ He buried his face in his hands.

            Raising an eyebrow, she crossed her arms. “ _Did he send you to get information?_ ”

            “ _Don’t tell him you figured out that quickly, please._ ” Voltaire sighed.

            “ _If he wants information he can come ask me himself._ ”

            “ _And you’ll answer his questions if he does?_ ”

  
            “ _I didn’t say that!_ ” She frowned at him. “ _Like I told the King. I’m not here to produce prophesies on demand. I tell what I can. For what I can’t, you all can suck it up and face the future as it comes like everyone else does._ ”

            Voltaire nodded. “ _I will tell him. Not in those words though._ ” Timothea snorted.

            “ _No, I suppose not_.”

            He nodded firmly, then stepped back. “ _I’d best be going then. It was a pleasure talking to you._ ” He turned to go.

            “ _Voltaire, wait a moment!_ ” She called after him. “ _Um. Sorry, is it Mr. Voltaire or do you have a title?_ ”

            Turning back to her, he laughed. “ _Just Simon is fine, no need to be so formal._ ”

            She grinned. “ _Ok. And you can call me Timmie if you’d like. I was going to ask—do you know how I would go about getting access to a lab space and resources? I’d really like to be able to do some practical work._ ”

            Simon frowned. “ _Usually they’re allocated to gifted scientists, the ones people will call “wizards” and such. I’ll talk to some people though and see what I can do—maybe you could borrow space in someone’s lab._ ”

            “ _Thank you so much, I’d really appreciate that._ ”

  
            “ _Not a problem. I’ll see you later, Timmie._ ”

            “ _Nice meeting you, Simon._ ”

_

            Timmie frowned, and smoothed her skirts down. Andronicus had summoned her to his personal quarters with no explanation, and she had no idea what to expect. There had been…hints, in the comic, about what sort of person he might be. He’d certainly left enough descendants!

            She sincerely hoped that wasn’t what he wanted. Her life was difficult enough without having to avoid romantic pursuit. She shook her head. It was probably nothing like that. As if a king would be interested in her anyway! Steeling her resolve, she knocked on the door.

            “Enter!” a voice called from inside. Opening the door, Timothea stepped into a small sitting room. Seeing Andronicus, she dropped into a curtsey.

            “ _None of that, not right now_.” His voice was firm, and she stood up straight and looked at him with confusion.

            “ _What is it you wanted, your Majesty?”_

“ _Sit down, please._ ” He waved at a couch across from him, and she sat down, arranging her skirts carefully around her. When she was fully settled he continued.

            “ _I wanted a chance to speak with you in private, away from the eyes of the court._ ”

  
            “ _Okay…_ ”

            “ _You clearly prepared that speech, and were watching what you said in front of them. Is there anything else you can tell me? About why you are here, and what awaits me._ ”

            Oh, thank goodness. Not what she’d been afraid of. Although this was still going to be a difficult discussion, it’s what she’d signed herself up for in coming here. What the _Dreen_ had signed her up for against her will. The comics and books had said he appreciated bluntness, right? That’s why he’d been frustrated with the muses—they were evasive. Best to avoid that, then.

            “ _I am…in all honestly your Majesty, I don’t know what I can tell you. I want to help you, I can tell you that. The end of your reign would bring nothing good, and I want to prevent that if possible. But I am…not good at poetic words and fancy prophesies. I am a pretty honest person and I wasn’t trained for this. Nobody told me how to do this or what I’m allowed to say—they just punish me if I say things I shouldn’t, things that will affect events that have to happen. I_ think _that I need to wait for things to be closer to happening to tell you much._ ”

            Andronicus nodded. “ _If you really are an honest person like you say, you will have trouble in court. You already narrowly avoided causing offense last time you were there._ ”

            Timothea’s jaw dropped in surprise, then she shook her head. “ _I’m not of noble birth, as I’m sure you guessed. I have no idea how to avoid that._ ”

            He sighed. “ _I would recommend speaking with Duchess Strinbeck. You are lucky that she and her husband are the ones who found you—they have a vested interest in you doing well in court, and are mostly trustworthy. They will probably try to benefit from your success of course, but that’s to be expected._ ”

            Timothea nodded. “ _Thank you very much, your Majesty. I appreciate the advice._ ”

            Andronicus shook his head. “ _I still don’t trust you. I’ve seen no evidence to prove what you know, but I’ve also seen no evidence to the contrary. You are here on my sufferance, and I expect you to prove yourself as soon as possible_.”

            She gulped. “ _Yes sir, I will do my best.”_

He grinned suddenly. “ _One last thing before you go—I appreciate your attempts, but you_ really _don’t have to keep calling me “your majesty” the whole conversation. Talk to Her Grace, preferably before you get yourself into trouble._ ”

            _“Yes sir._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Prof for helping out with what the royal address stuff is SUPPOSED to be. I may know now, but Timothea sure doesn't yet.  
> Hopefully I didn't mess up Voltaire's characterization- I did my best to keep him the same person, just...200 years younger.


	4. In Which the Nobility are Entitled and Timmie is Awkward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It was so much easier to be shameless and ignore rules when presenting a prophecy—small talk though? Ugh."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's be real, that chapter title probably encompasses the whole fic
> 
> Edit:  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Girl Genius and make no claims of such. I write fic for fun and to show my love for the comic. I make no money off of this and do not want to. My works are not approved by, sponsored by or affiliated with Studio Foglio LLC or Airship Entertainment.

            Glancing around the banquet hall, Timmie bit her lip nervously. Lady Strinbeck had been more than willing to go over the many, _many_ , etiquette rules with her, and now it was time to put that to the test. Someone was having a birthday, she was pretty sure. Or getting married. Or something. Maybe the king just felt like partying?

            Whatever the reason, there were a lot of very fancy looking people she vaguely recognized from when she had met Andronicus the first time, and a lot of dishes. So many dishes. Good heavens, had a Spark decided their sole goal would be to come up with as many different ways to serve potatoes as possible?

            Timmie had stuck close to the Duchess for the first part of the evening, hesitant to venture off on her own and risk spilling her drink on a Countess or something like that. (It was so much easier to be shameless and ignore rules when presenting a prophecy—small talk though? Ugh).

            Lady Strinbeck had introduced her to a ton of people, and her head was spinning with names and faces by the time dinner was announced. Then—horror of horrors.

            Assigned seating.

            Away from the Duchess.

            On her own, left to the wolves.

            Well, that was a bit of an exaggeration. She’d been assigned a place with several other young women her age—presumably in an attempt to encourage friendships? Or possibly for some political reason she didn’t understand yet.

            Either way, they were chattering a mile a minute, and although Timmie’s French had improved a lot, this was…beyond her. And she’d missed most of their names when they introduced themselves. The young women had spent a few minutes making polite conversation and not-so-subtly prodding for answers about why she was here, before eventually giving up when Timmie didn’t seem likely to produce a prophecy for them on the spot. From there, the conversation had shifted to complimenting each other’s clothing, then segued into gossip, slowly speeding up as Timmie gave up on asking for clarification.

She focused back on the conversation for a moment. She caught the word “picnic,” she thought? And she definitely heard the word “blue!” Maybe there were blue skies for a picnic? Or someone had worn blue to a picnic?

            She spent the meal smiling at them politely, and not saying much. Occasionally they’d slow down and ask her a question in an attempt to include her, but once she’d answered they’d be off again at the speed of light.

            By the time dessert had finished, Timmie was pretty sure she hadn’t made a fool of herself, but she was also very ready for the night to be over. Half the questions had been about why she kept refusing wine when offered. Apparently, “I prefer not to drink alcohol” wasn’t enough? Honestly.

            Andronicus stood at the head table, and the room grew silent. “Welcome, all. I am glad you are here to celebrate the formation of the Coalition!” Oh, that’s what the party was for. Gotcha. “There have been dark times in the past, across all of our lands. But if we stand together, we will prevail against any threat!” He raised his fist high, and the room filled with cheers.

            Timmie pursued her lips, hiding a grimace. Yeahhhhh…that wasn’t going to happen. Andronicus continued. “In fact, we have a sign of our success right here!” Wait. Wait, what?

            “As Duke Strinbeck has so _graciously_ reminded me, there is an Angel of Fate who was sent to our court. Would you please stand, Lady Timothea!”

            Timmie blinked, then pushed her chair back. The screech of chair legs on stone echoed through the expectant room, and she stood, resisting the urge to twist her fists in her skirt fabric. (“It’s unladylike, bad for the fabric, and gives away exactly how you’re feeling,” Lady Strinbeck had scolded her). Instead, she crossed one leg behind the other under her skirt and gripped the edge of the table. She narrowed her eyes at the king as she smiled (hopefully) gracefully. A little warning would have been nice.

            “Do you have anything you can say about our alliance?” They had TALKED about this. What was he doing? He knew she didn’t have anything she could say for a long time, he’d seemed so reasonable…

            “As I said before,” her voice was firm, and frustrated. “Your rule will be remembered for centuries. This coalition will as well.”

            “Surely you have more than that?” someone sitting next to the king protested. Murmurs of agreement broke out through the crowd. “Something more certain? How do we know you’re even a real Gift!”

            “I am not here to serve you!” Timmie’s voice cut through the crowd, and she stared directly at the first complainer. Thank goodness for theatre, or she wouldn’t have been able to make herself heard. “I serve powers greater than your…” she gave up and switched to English. “ _than your_ _silly little minds can imagine, and I will not dance like a puppet for your entertainment! Do you even realize what’s on the line? How fragile the time stream is here?_ ” Her voice was growing louder and more furious as she went, and she had stopped clenching the table to gesture furiously. “ _The king himself, if he—AGH!_ ” She doubled over and clenched her gut.

 Static filled her ears and pain filled her body as the Dreen forcibly phased her out of that plane of reality, preventing her from saying what she had meant to—that Andronicus would end up as a man out of time in his own way, if she didn’t prevent it.  
            Stupid! Stupid, stupid, stupid, Timmie. Going to all this effort, then almost spilling the beans just because she got mad at some entitled nobles? She would have to deal with far worse before this was over, and if she didn’t get control of herself she was never going to pull this off! “ACK!”

When the pain started to fade, she put her hands on the edge of the table and, once she was sure she wouldn’t phase through it, leaned on it heavily before looking up. Everyone was staring at her, horror and fear in their eyes. She sighed. “That is what happens when those who sent me are not pleased with what I say. I **will not** have this happen because you want entertainment. Good night.”

She straightened up, slowly, and exited the room. She was probably breaking about a thousand etiquette rules and she couldn’t care less. Once she’d gotten to the hall where her room was, she slumped against the wall for support. Running a hand through her hair, she groaned. No way was she going to make any friends now. They were probably all scared stiff.

_

Timmie wasn’t sure how long she stayed there having her pity party, but after some time, a girl walked into view from behind her. Timmie jumped in surprise and let out a rather embarrassing squeak when she saw her.

“Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you!” the girl apologized. “I’m Mathilde. Mathilde Wulfenbach. I just…wanted to make sure you were alright?”

Timmie blinked in surprise. This…was not something she’d expected. A Wulfenbach? “I…I am, thank you.”

“If you’re sure? Just because you were really upset and I didn’t want to disturb you, but you didn’t move for like ten minutes and—is that creepy, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare-”

“It’s fine!” Timmie interrupted quickly. “Really. It…it means a lot, that you came to check.”

“Oh! Um. I’m glad. That you’re alright. That’s good.” Mathilde rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly.

“Yeah. Thank you.”

“I’ll just. Go then.” Mathilde gave her one last smile, then headed down the corridor.

A Wulfenbach? She hadn’t thought…didn’t the “Fifty Families” always make a big deal about their family being older or something? “I guess it makes sense that they’d have someone here though. They’re pretty close to Mechanicsburg.”

“Hm?” A male voice came from behind her, and she whirled around in surprise.

“Oh! Vol- Simon!” She definitely hadn’t expected to see him again so soon.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sneak up on you. I just wanted to let you know that Master Van Rijn said you can work in our lab starting tomorrow—he had a bench cleared off for you and everything!” He grinned at her.

“In…in _your_ lab?” Timmie blinked in shock. “Really? I didn’t expect- Van Rijn, and…wow.”

“You’ve got to stop saying things like that, all it does is make me more curious about what you know!” He teased.

“I…yeah. I need to get better about that.” Timmie frowned, remembering again the mess at the party.

“Are you…alright?” Simon frowned at her. “Whatever happened at the feast didn’t seem pleasant.”

She forced a smile. “It’s fine.”

“Are you sure? It seemed-”

“It’s fine.” She said firmly. “It’s not the first time and I doubt it will be the last. The pain doesn’t last long, and I doubt people will be so eager to cause it again for a little while.”

That didn’t seem to reassure Simon, but after another concerned look he told her where the lab was and left her to her thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timmie: "everyone is scared and hates me, I will never have friends"  
> Mathilde and Simon: "wanna bet"


	5. In Which the State of Science is, Once Again, Awful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER:  
> there's an aborted anxiety spiral fueled by rejection sensitivity. Timothea isn't in a good place for a bit there, take care of yourselves and don't set off the same for you if that's a problem! <3
> 
> Italics are still English!
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Girl Genius and make no claims of such. I write fic for fun and to show my love for the comic. I make no money off of this and do not want to. My works are not approved by, sponsored by or affiliated with Studio Foglio LLC or Airship Entertainment.

            Timmie’s sleep that night was restless and full of half-remembered warnings. She woke up with the sun shining right into her eyes, and groaned. “ _Really?_ ” she shook her hands towards the ceiling in frustration. “ _Was the shift last night not enough for you? I GET IT._ ”

            With a yawn, she rolled over to go back to sleep, before sitting bolt upright. “ _LAB! VAN RIJN!_ ” How could she have forgotten?  
            She rushed through her morning routine before heading down the hall, muttering Simon’s instructions from last night under her breath as she went. _“Left, second right, 3 doors down into the “Hall of Wizards,” who names these things, honestly, end of the hall turn right, and-_ ah-hah! Here it is!” She took a moment to compose herself. She didn’t want to look too…well, fangirly. She was about to walk into _Van Rijn’s lab_. This was amazing. Beyond anything she’d ever expected, even ending up in this world.

            The comic said so little about Van Rijn, but…he was a GENIUS. He’d made the muses and investigated the very nature of time itself! And she was going to MEET HIM. An opportunity like this…it almost made up for all the downsides of being chosen for this. Almost.

            But what if he didn’t actually want her in there. What if Simon had misunderstood or she was terrible at explaining what she knew or couldn’t prove anything or made a stupid mistake and he _kicked her out_.

            Maybe she shouldn’t knock. Maybe she should just go back to the library. Why would a stupid little girl like her think she had any right to even step foot in a laboratory with Simon Voltaire and Rembrandt Van Rijn? This was absurd.

            She should just stick to reading and avoiding giving away information she shouldn’t tell. Maybe take up knitting again-

            “Oh!” she exclaimed in surprise as someone smacked into her shoulder from behind without warning. Stumbling forward a few steps, she caught herself on the door and turned around to see who it was. “Simon! I’m so sorry, was I standing in the way?”

            Simon poked his head around from behind the giant box he was holding, and grinned. “Oh, Timmie! No, I’m sorry, that was my fault. I wasn’t looking where I was going.” He shifted his weight a little bit, adjusting his hold on the box. “You’re here earlier than I expected.” Crap she was too early she should have waited they didn’t want her here yet- “That’s wonderful, would you mind getting the door?”

            Timmie opened the door for him, sliding out of his way and trailing behind him into the room. She stopped in the doorway, partially out of a hesitance to intrude, and partially to take in the sight before her.

            The lab was…amazing! She wasn’t sure if lab was really the right word for it…workshop maybe? The room was enormous, with ongoing projects _everywhere_. There was what looked like a full forge in the far right corner, with a sword resting on an anvil. The right wall was covered in tools, many of which she didn’t recognize; the left was simply windows looking out over the massive grounds of the palace.

A long workstation stretched in front of the windows, with gears and screws scattered about and various small clank parts- she assumed for better lighting. A table in the back left corner held— _oh my gracious, that’s a clank body, is that a MUSE in progress? THIS IS AMAZING!_

Right. Calm. Chill. Not going to fangirl. This is _fine_.

Several more tables were scattered throughout the center of the room—back by the forge, Simon had set the box down on one and was pulling out chunks of metal. A table in front of the muse was covered in paper, notes and sketches and a few equations. In front of that a couple of long workstations stretched out from the table in front of the window, forming a nice little workspace with surfaces on 3 sides. Directly front of the door, a couple of tables were arranged in an L-shape, shockingly clean compared to the rest of the room. A few massive, odd-looking clanks were set up around it, but it held a variety of cups and bowls, and a few labeled jars.

As Timmie finished her scan of the room, she realized that at the last table, against the wall to the left of the door, sat an older man who had to be Van Rijn himself, enjoying a large plate of waffles.

            Huh.

            “Well?” he asked with a frown. “Are you just going to stand in the doorway staring all day?”

             “Oh! Sorry.” She closed the door behind her and walked over to him. She held out her hand to him, then brought it halfway back as she remembered what she’d been told and started to curtsey, grabbing her skirt with the other hand. Van Rijn grabbed her hand before she could finish bringing it back and shook it firmly. “I- I’m Timothea. Turner. The Dreen Gift. Pleasure to meet you, sir.”

            Van Rijn raised an eyebrow, then grinned. “You seem flustered. You know me, don’t you! It’s good to know my contributions will go down in history like I thought.”

            Timmie spluttered for a moment at his smug grin. “That’s not- you don’t know- you can’t just assume that- ugh. I’m not telling you what you did.”

            “Of course not, then I might not do it as magnificently. We must wait for inspiration to strike properly! Anyway, your work station is over there.” He waved his hand idly at the L-shaped tables. “Have fun, if you need something you can just step out into the hall and wave someone down.” With that, he turned back to his waffles, noting something down in the notebook beside him. The book was oddly familiar for some reason, but Timmie couldn’t place why.

            “Thank you!” she said brightly, and headed over to where he’d sent her. As she walked past one of the strange clanks, a bright light came on, and gears started to spin with a groan. She jumped back in surprise, and Van Rijn rushed over and started to fiddle with it.

            “I’m sorry! Did I step on something? I don’t think I bumped into it.”

            “No, no, it’s fine. Just, don’t move for a moment—there.” The first light dimmed, and a flickering green one came on instead. “You’re fine, it’s…motion activated. Go on.” He flapped his hand dismissively, and she hesitantly continued, watching her step carefully and skirting well around the machine.

            “Newton’s wig, these readings!” she heard Van Rijn exclaim, as she started to investigate the workspace she’d been given. Stifling a snicker, she began to poke around.

            Front and center on one of the tables was an empty journal, the quill and inkpot she’d slowly started to get used to sitting beside it. Along the edge of the table an assortment of containers were arranged—glass bottles and cups, a mortar and pestle, a few spoons.

            The other table seemed to hold supplies. Labelled jars with lids held sulfur, mercury, salt, chunks of lead, and more.

            That was it.

            No Bunsen burner, because there was no gas line, of course not! No sink, the palace didn’t have running water! No fume hood, no jug for chemical waste, certainly no _distilled_ water.

            No test tubes. No Erlenmeyer flasks. Nothing.

            She’d known intellectually, of course, but it was something else entirely to stand there and realized that this was what she got, for the rest of her life probably.

            She thought wistfully for a moment of analytical machines and computer-generated graphs—not that she’d ever been able to touch the really fancy stuff, of course, but still. With a sigh, she pulled up a stool and settled down with the journal.

            Time to make a plan.

_

_[10/03/1690]_

_Plans for future work_

_-set up lab space first_

_-waste disposal? IMPORTANT (heavy metals are dangerous right?)_

_-safety goggles? gloves?_

_-I can’t be stabbed, maybe I can’t get lead poisoning? let’s not test it_

_-water source?_

_-new bucket every day? ugh._

_-RVR was eating in here :/ DO NOT POISON HISTORICALLY SIGNIFICANT PEOPLE WITH FUMES_

_-first project - > ???_

_-figure out safe waste disposal_

_-make sure you can ~~actull~~ actually keep a control group alive- mimmoths maybe?_

_-get plants? to confirm waste disposal, don’t poison fields_

_-feed the plants to the mimmoths, not just direct mercury. it stays in plants right? I think?_

_-oh hey that’s the stuff for aqua regia nice_

_\- DO NOT MELT THE TABLE_

_-I can’t even measure pH. the pH scale doesn’t even exist yet. get red cabbage I GUESS_

_

            Working in the lab there was nice. Sometimes her concentration would be jarred by a sudden stretch of loud hammering from the forge, or some clank Simon was working on would run around the lab, crashing into people’s ankles until someone tackled it or it ran out of energy. But it was the most time she’d spent like this around people since she’d arrived in Europa, just coexisting in relative peace.

            They weren’t looking at her like she knew everything, (not since her ignorance of mechanics became obvious), but they also didn’t look at her like an outsider, an intruder, like people had before she got to Paris. They’d seen her phase out and showed no sign of trying to burn her as a witch, which was really nice.

            Van Rijn looked at her like a puzzle he was trying to solve sometimes, but he was a Spark who, if he hadn’t started already, would end up putting a lot of effort into studying time. It would have been crazy if he wasn’t a bit curious! So she didn’t mind.

            Until he threw a knife at her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)


	6. In Which Timmie Herself is the Subject of Science

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Girl Genius and make no claims of such. I write fic for fun and to show my love for the comic. I make no money off of this and do not want to. My works are not approved by, sponsored by or affiliated with Studio Foglio LLC or Airship Entertainment.

            It had been a normal day, up until then. Timmie had come into the lab that morning (when she _felt_ like it, because she wasn’t being paid, so she could _sleep in_ ) (because nobody cared about her research, but she’d figure it out and show people how important it was).

            Those motion-sensitive clanks had whirred when she walked in—she really should ask what they were for, she kept forgetting to do that. She’d greeted Simon, and started watering her plants. Van Rijn had come in by the time she’d finished. Her first attempts at raising wheat indoors were…not going well. She wasn’t sure whether they were missing nutrients, or it was just her absolute lack of a green thumb. Or both.

            She frowned for a moment. Well, nobody had ever said this would be _easy_. If only she’d had time to finish her degree—nope, that train of thought was best left in the station, where lost loved ones could be left in the unopened baggage car, tagged “DO NOT OPEN TIL 2AM.” Or something.

            She picked up her notebook and writing supplies, and went to sit against the tool wall and think. Cozy corners were good for that.

_

_[10/23/1690]_

_I don’t know what I’m missing for the wheat. I need to talk to someone who knows about growing it, but the palace is out of town a bit and I don’t…think I want to go into Paris on my own. I don’t really know anyone who could go with me? Would there even be farmers in Paris?_

_where would I find a farmer to talk to_

_do I know enough French to communicate about growing plants? idk how much of what I’ve learned since I got here is like, science and nobility specific? vs what I learned before_

_am I overwatering? underwatering? do I need to add like, fertilizer or something?_

_do I need to start a compost heap? how does that EVEN work?_

_ugh I miss the internet. I don’t even have a periodic table! I do remember:_

_carbon – 4e- 12.0107 amu_

_oxygen- 6e- ~16 amu- 15.9994 iirc?_

_hydrogen- 1e- 1.000 amu? it is .something OH_

_1.008? 1.0008?_

_nitrogen is…5e?_

_diatomics: H 2, N2, O2, halogens_

_Halogens: Cl, F, Br, I_

_I’m going to_ forget _ack I can’t even calculate mol_

_

            And suddenly, everything was static. The journal phased through her lap, and the pen through her hand, dripping a splotch of ink onto the page.

            The clanks started _screeching_ , and Timmie was up and against the wall within a few seconds, frantically looking for the source of the danger.

            Simon had stopped what he was doing and was staring at the clanks in confusion, and Van Rijn…Van Rijn was staring at _her_.

            She looked down to where she’d been sitting, and saw the hilt of a knife, buried in the wall. As soon as she moved her ankle out of her journal, she resolidifed.

            “What. the. _HELL_. was that?”

            Van Rijn grinned, not even looking at her anymore. The main clank had started to feed out a graph, which he was collecting and studying with fascination. “I needed more data. Your energies readings at rest are fascinating, and such a different baseline than normal humans, but _this_. Look at this peak!” He held up the graph. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand, of course, but the implications are-”

            “You…you’ve been STUDYING ME? Is that what those clanks are for?”

            “I will admit, “motion-activated” was a bit of a fib. The residual energy that you emit, I think it’s connected to time itself-”

            “ _Oh my gosh_. No. No, I can’t deal with this right now. What the heck, you threw a KNIFE at me.” She stooped down and picked up her journal. “I’m going. I’m just. going to leave now. I can’t-” He’d been _studying her_. Without asking. _Residual energy readings_? This was such a violation of privacy and—she slammed the door behind her. What was she, a guinea pig? Was she on the same level as her plants and, and theoretical future mimmoths to him?

            A KNIFE. Her skin was still crawling from the unexpected shift.

            So much for a safe place where she could just be a normal person.

_

            Simon slowly walked down the hallway. This was _not_ how he’d expected the day to go, and he had no idea what Master Van Rijn had been _thinking_.

            In retrospect, he wasn’t surprised that he’d been studying Timmie. He’d offered space in their lab far too quickly, given how jealously he’d guarded it before. But the knife!

            He must have been _deep_ in a fugue, to think that that could possibly end well. The slamming door seemed to have jolted him out of it just enough for him to order Simon to “go fix that.” _How_ he was supposed to do that, he didn’t know.

            Honestly, he just hoped she didn’t assume he’d known about Van Rijn’s plans and throw something at his head. _He_ wouldn’t phase through it.

            He found her curled up on an armchair in a quiet corner of the library. Her journal was tucked between her knees and her chest, her arms hugging her legs. Her-

            Oh dear. Her face was tearstained.

            Abort mission, back to the lab, let her cry in peace on her own, Master Van Rijn can just deal with that, Simon was not prepared to-

            He sneezed. Her head jolted up. “Who’s there—oh.” She sniffed, and let out a humorless chuckle. “Would have expected you to have a deeper sneeze.”

            “What’s wrong with my sneeze?” he asked in confusion.

            She arced an eyebrow. “You sound like a kitten.”

            “Kittens are great!”

            “They are. You just don’t look like one.” She frowned. “Look, what do you want?”

            He sighed. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know that Master Van Rijn was studying you, and if I’d know he was going to throw a knife at you I would have—well I probably couldn’t stop him, but warned you or something. That wasn’t okay.”

            “I…thank you. It just. It wasn’t even the knife, really.”

            He blinked at her. “…Really? Because that seems to be the big problem here.”

            “But it isn’t! It wasn’t going to hurt me. I know that, he knew that, the whole court knows it. It’s just…he’s been studying me since I got to the lab, and lying about it the whole time, and I didn’t even know!”

She’d let go of her legs and turned to face him, gesturing with her arms emphatically.

“As far as he’s concerned I’m a-” she fumbled for a moment, then visibly gave up and continued in English. “ _a test subject. A fascinating anomaly. Not a PERSON. If he’d have ASKED me? I probably would have said yes! I want to know what the data says too, I don’t know how any of this works! But instead he assumes that it’s all over my head, because he’s so smart and I just wouldn’t get it, which yes, okay, I’m not a spark and I haven’t studied this field much, but I guarantee I probably know more about the nature of time than him right now! I’ve been yanked through it, I’ve gotten the lectures from the Dreen about-_ ”

She went staticky again, starting and stopping for about 15 seconds. “ _SERIOUSLY? As if this day hasn’t been bad enough?_ ” She clutched her head and slumped back into the chair. “ _So yeah_ ,” She returned to French. “That’s why I’m upset.”

            Simon frowned. “Huh. Well, he didn’t know that you’d want to help. If you told him now-”

            “What? No, because now I don’t want to!”

            “I understand that you’re mad, but why not?” It seemed like a good compromise to him. They could work together and get data, and Simon wouldn’t get yelled at. Everyone would be happy.

            “It’s the principle of thing! You can’t just…you can’t just experiment on people without their consent. I don’t know if I can _trust_ him to go back in there.” Much to his dismay, he saw the tears starting to well up in her eyes again. She sucked her lips into her mouth and pressed them into a thin line so that they almost disappeared, angrily scrubbing her eyes with her hands. “What else would he do, if he thought I wouldn’t notice? Or just if he thought he could get away with it!”

            Simon shifted uncomfortably, and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. “I mean…he works with clanks, mostly. It’s not like he would give you a third arm or something. If he even tried, you’d probably just do your-” he vibrated his other hand in a vague attempt to replicate it “-thing. With the blinking and moving and things going through you.” That…seemed to upset her more. Oh dear.

            “It shouldn’t matter! The fact that I won’t get hurt doesn’t mean I shouldn’t be respected as a person!” This conversation was rapidly spiraling. Maybe he should go.

            “I…never intended to imply otherwise.” He took a cautious step back. _Don’t throw the journal at me, please don’t throw the journal at me_.

            Thankfully, Timmie did nothing of the sort. Instead, she took a deep, quavering breath. She let it out slowly, then took another. She carefully and deliberately put her hands on the seat beside her, gripping its edge until her knuckles turned white, then looked up at him and smiled—one of the most forced smiles he’d ever seen. “I’m sorry. You are not the person I am mad at, and you do not deserve for me to lash out. You’re trying to help. And I am upset for good reasons, but also forgetting that there are cultural differences here and at home, that make these things less…concerning. For you. But they SHOULD BE.” She spat the last part out with surprising venom.

            “Oh.” Cultural differences, huh. “Is England really that different from here?”

            A startled snort escaped her, and she immediately covered her mouth. It was…not dainty at all. Which made sense, she wasn’t a particularly dainty person. “I’m sorry, I just…I’m not from England.”

            He blinked in surprise. “Really? It’s your most comfortable language, so I’d assumed—”

            She nodded. “No, that’s fair. But I’m not actually.” She stopped short for a minute, then sounded out her words carefully. “I am not from this world. Oh thank goodness, I’m allowed to say that.” She let out a sigh of relief.

            That…definitely created more questions than answers. “Not this world? Are you from the moon, then?”

            She burst into laughter at that, high pitched giggles that shook her entire body until she _actually fell off the chair_. He stepped forward to help her, but she waved him off and pushed herself back up, smoothing down the skirts that had puffed up around her as she sat on the floor.

            “I’m…hah…I’m sorry…hahaha! Just, give me a moment.” She cupped her hands around her mouth and nose and took a few deep breaths. “I just didn’t expect that, although I can see where it came from. I…don’t know how much they talk about it, if they have the concept here. It was a very common theory about the universe back home. There are…many planet Earths. They are in different…I don’t have the word in French. _Dimensions?_ ”

            “Like, width and height and length? Dimensions.”

            “Yes, that! Dimensions.” She pronounced the word carefully, before continuing. “They are in the same place and have the same continents and people mostly, but each one has something different about it. I do not know what most of them are like, I have only been here and home. And maybe another one, but I do not know. The ones who brought me here are very different, and I am not sure if the place where they told me what to do was a dimension at all.”

            This was _fascinating_. “So if each world has something different, what was yours like?”

            “There were…so many differences in history, that I’m not sure I can talk about? Countries were entirely different, and as far as I know Andronicus was never a king.”

            Simon looked around for a moment, then dragged a nearby armchair a bit closer so he could sit down. This felt like it was going to be a long conversation. “Really?”

            She turned a bit red at his focused gaze. “Yes, although I am not sure because I am not from this part of the world even in my world. I think the biggest difference is that we have no _Sparks_. Um.” She flapped her hand vaguely. “Wizards, thinkomancers, like yourself and Van Rijn.” She made a sour face at the mention of Master Van Rijn, and Simon did his best to pull away from that topic quickly.

            “No madboys?” He grinned wryly at the self-deprecating use of the term. “That sounds so different! Did you have anything else instead?”

            Her face grew solemn. “I think…I hope I’m wrong, but I think what our world had was…future Dreen Gifts.”

            He blinked in confusion. “Were there a lot of you, then?”

            She shook her head. “I don’t know. There was…I am here, because I know about things that have not yet happened. And I know those things because of something from my world, a story that many of us read and enjoyed, about your world.” She’d grown pale, and took a deep breath before continuing. “I hope that I am the only one, because being pulled from my home was not something I want them to have to go through. This world is dangerous and you do not have my family,” her voice wavered again, but she kept going. “But I had a friend who also enjoyed this story, and she went missing about a month before I came here, and I think that she may also end up here, or has ended up here and I do not know.”

            That was…not the response Simon had expected. She didn’t seem to look at being a Gift as the same honor everyone else did, but he didn’t want to pry. It was clearly something that upset her. “This friend—wouldn’t she already be here? If she left before you did.”

            Timmie shook her head. “Time is not the same, between worlds. And to the Dreen I don’t know if it matters at all. It was…about three hundred, maybe three hundred and fifty years from now, when I used to live. So she could be, I think, anywhere. Any time.” She sighed. “If she does end up here, I hope she is okay. She already knew more of an Europan language than I did, so I hope she would do better at adjusting. But she has health problems sometimes, that I don’t know if the Dreen would fix them. And…” she wrung her hands nervously. “She is…I want her to have friends. I don’t know if she would be put where she could, and that worries me. But I also worry more that I’m making all of this up, and she isn’t a Gift, because that means she just got taken by bad people, and that would be far worse.”

            Simon frowned. “That sounds really awful. I hope your friend is okay.”

            She sighed. “Yeah, me too. But there isn’t anything I can do about it right now.” She shook herself and sat up straighter. Setting her shoulders back in determination, she met his eyes straight on. “I will come back to the lab.”

            He blinked, taken aback. “What, really? I mean, that’s good, but you seemed really determined not to.”

            “I know. But there are things that need to be done, and I need to be in the lab to do them. You were right, I can’t be really hurt. And this is probably my best option. I really _do_ want to know about the things that Master Van Rijn was studying.”

            Simon reached out his nearest hand and awkwardly rested in on her shoulder. “I’ll try to keep an eye on him, and let you know if he wants to do something…like the knife. Again.”

            Timmie reached her opposite hand across her body and rested on his arm. “Thank you, I really appreciate it.” She looked to the side for a moment, then back up at him, and grinned. “Don’t tell him I already want to come back, though. I want to make him sweat about it first.”

            Simon laughed. “That’s fair.”


	7. In Which Science is Hard, Dangit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timmie sighed, and dropped her head into her hands. She had forgotten so much already, she knew. And there was so much knowledge she’d never had the chance to learn, or needed to learn.
> 
> What she wouldn’t give for just one more semester of classes. Or a day on the internet to collect all the information she needed. Even just one of her old textbooks would work wonders right now!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Girl Genius and make no claims of such. I write fic for fun and to show my love for the comic. I make no money off of this and do not want to. My works are not approved by, sponsored by or affiliated with Studio Foglio LLC or Airship Entertainment.
> 
> This chapter includes references to animal testing and death, and they're only going to get worse from here. Timothea intends to be as humane as possible and I don't intend to get particularly gruesome (if that changes I'll warn) but if that is something that deeply bothers you this may not be the fic for you, read at your own risk.

            It had been a tense few weeks. Timothea’s workstation was moved to the corner and wall by the door, well away from Van Rijn’s clankwork, which she now eyed with extreme suspicion when she had to go anywhere near it. The new location had the advantage of giving her space by the windows for her plants, which had perked up enough that she’d planted a new set and started dosing them with mercury. Maybe they’d just needed some more sunlight!

            Relationships in the lab were…awkward. When she’d come back in, she’d crossed her arms, stared Van Rijn in the eye, and told him very firmly to _never do that again_. He’d nodded, but hadn’t apologized, and…other than that, nothing.

            He didn’t throw anymore knives, and as far as she could tell he hadn’t tried to set up any new machines to study her. But he also hadn’t apologized, or even made any attempts at casual conversation since the Incident, as she’d taken to calling it in her own mind.

            Was _he_ angry? Did he think if he ignored her the problem would go away? Did he just not know what to say, was he trying to respectfully give her space… _Why were people so complicated._

            They’d settled into a routine of ignoring each other for anything but basic pleasantries. A nod in the morning, an announcement that she was stepping out for lunch, a shout to GET DOWN as a clank went unexpectedly wild. Simon was caught in the middle of it all, and it was clear the ongoing tension was making him very uncomfortable as well. Still, they were…functioning.

            When she wasn’t writing down every scrap of information she could remember from home, or tending to her plants, Timmie was usually camped out in her work area with a scientific text from the palace library, doing her best to learn what was available here and fill in the gaps in her limited education. Which was difficult, given how little she trusted the currently accepted theories. Still, those theories would lead to modern science eventually, right? There had to be some truths in them.

            Half the time, she didn’t even know what substance they were talking about. IUPAC[1] didn’t exist yet, and she wasn’t working in her native language. She’d known she needed to learn French, but there were _so many Latin books. So many._

And then she found it. Her new favorite book. _The Skeptical Chymist_ , by none other than ROBERT BOYLE. First of all, it was written in English- score one for her! Second, it was by _Boyle himself._ His name was one she recognized, and although she couldn’t for the life of her remember which law he discovered specifically, she knew it was one that was still being taught. But the most important thing about this book, the most beautiful thing, was that it was about the _differences between chemistry and alchemy_. And it was a step towards modern atomic theory too!

Now she knew there were sensible books out there. There were resources. She just had to _find them_. And probably learn Latin.

Almost definitely learn Latin.

Ugh.

_

            Something was up with her plants.

            They were growing in the same way. The control group and the group she’d been dosing with mercury looked _identical_. Maybe it wasn’t toxic to plants? But in that case, why did it need to be disposed of specifically instead of just dumping it in the backyard? She knew there were rules about what to do when old mercury thermometers broke.

            Maybe it was like. When someone ate the plants they’d be exposed? The mercury made the plants toxic? Some substances were like that, the plant would just hold it there and not process it into something different. She was pretty sure.

            Timmie sighed, and dropped her head into her hands. She had forgotten so much already, she knew. And there was so much knowledge she’d never had the chance to learn, or needed to learn.

            What she wouldn’t give for just one more semester of classes. Or a _day_ on the internet to collect all the information she needed. Even just one of her old textbooks would work wonders right now!

            _Deep breaths Timmie. Think this through. You just need to test it, like normal scientists who don’t already know about things that haven’t been discovered._

            _…can she even call herself a scientist? It feels so fake to say that. She doesn’t have a degree back home, she’s never officially studied here. Even the discoveries she wants to find won’t actually be_ hers _. She’s a fake. A fraud. A_ plagiarist _._

_NOPE. This is not a productive train of thought. Intellectual property rights can be considered when it isn’t something that’s going to_ kill people _if she leaves it be. Come on Timmie. Stop beating yourself up and_ think _. You’re pretty sure the mercury is in the plants but not killing them, right?_

            _Okay, can you remember any tests for mercury? No, not really. Fine, then you’ll have to make one. You can’t do a chemical one without a ton more research…ah. This is probably about when the animal testing will come in, isn’t it._

            She grimaced. She’d known it would have to happen eventually, but she’d hoped to avoid it for longer. Time to figure out where to get test subjects…

_

            “I was just wondering if you had mimmoth traps down here?” Timmie asked sheepishly, rubbing her arm.

            The kitchen worker standing in front of her blinked in confusion. “…yes ma’am, we do.”

            “Do they catch the mimmoths alive? Or if they don’t, and I made some that are equally effective and do, would you be willing to swap them out?”

            The man stared at her for a minute, looking very, very tired. “Ma’am, I understand that mimmoths can be considered… _cute_ …” his voice was full of distaste at the word, “but they’re disease carriers, and they’d eat everything in the larder if we let them. I understand why you wouldn’t want them to be killed, but I assure you, you will never have to see it.”

            “Oh, no!” Timmie cut in. “I’m sorry, I can see where that came across wrong. This isn’t some kind of…mimmoth conservation effort, or anything like that. _I_ want to kill them.”

            “I’m sorry?”

            “Wait, no, not like that. Ack. I’m not—it’s for science. So that when they stop dying I know it’s safe for people.”

            “Oh, you’re the wi-” he froze in place for a moment, before quickly correcting himself. “The king’s prophetess.” There was fear in his eyes, and Timmie sighed.

            “I’m well aware that people think I’m a witch. I’m not, which I’m sure doesn’t assure you. I have no magical smiting powers, and I wouldn’t put curses on people even if I could. I’m actually a very devout Christian.”

            “My apologies ma’am, I didn’t mean-"

            “It’s fine.” She sighed again. She desperately hoped these sorts of stories would die down over time. “So, mimmoth traps?”

            He studied her for a moment. When she showed no sign of lashing out at him, he frowned in thought. “I think you better talk to Sarah, ma’am.”

            Stepping back through the door, he held it open for her. The clanking of dishes and shouts of “Come help peel these,” and “What do you mean, no almonds-” that had been a backdrop to their conversation rose to a dull roar.

            The man offered her a stool, and vanished into the bustle. Timothea fidgeted as she sat there, feeling conspicuously out of place, even in her work clothes. People kept stealing curious glances at her, before returning to work, intentionally as loud as before.

            After a few minutes, a middle-aged woman with streaks of grey in her hair strode towards her. Timothea hastily stood up as the woman drew closer.

            “You must be Sarah.” She held out her hand for a shake, and the woman eyed it suspiciously for a moment. Finally she took it, nearly crushing Timmie’s hand her grip was so firm.

            “Aye, that’s me. And you’re the courtly lady who wants mimmoths to kill?” She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes, looking Timmie up and down. She didn’t seem impressed by what she found.

            “Um, sort of? I’m Timothea by the way. Timmie. I’m trying to figure out how to make something safer, and I need a way to tell if it’s still dangerous. I don’t want to just…kill them for the sake of killing them, or anything like that.”

            Sarah pursed her lips. “Hm. ‘s better than trying it on my people.”

            Timmie gasped. “People do that?” She closed her eyes in resignation. “Of course they do.”

            Sarah grinned, a bitter, ferocious smile. “Once.” The word was sharp and final. “They’ve done it once, and it won’t happen again.”

            Somehow, Timmie didn’t doubt her on that. “I wouldn’t, _ever_. I was thinking mimmoths are common enough pests that nobody would mind a few grabbed for other purposes.”

            Nodding, Sarah moved her hands to her hips. “And you don’t plan any unholy abominations like what I’ve heard from those wizards you work with? Because I’ll have no part in that. Animals and people should stay as they are.”

            Timmie shrugged. “Ma’am, I don’t think I could even if I wanted to.”

            Sarah grabbed the towel she had draped over her shoulder and swatted Timmie with it before she could react. “Don’t you ma’am me. I won’t be sweet-talked into anything, fancy lady or no.”

            Timmie raised her hands in surrender. “Sorry, sorry. I meant nothing but respect. And honestly I’m not much of a lady. I’m just useful.”

            Sarah snorted at that. “Difference doesn’t mean anything when you’re wearing their dresses and eating their food, does it?”

            Timmie nodded. “Yeah, that’s fair. Sorry.”

            “Don’t apologize so much child, people are going to walk all over you with that attitude.” She raised an eyebrow and studied Timmie for a moment. “If you bring your fancy traps, you can swap them for ours. But if the pests get worse because yours don’t work, or I hear a _word_ of you giving my people trouble, you’re out. Deal?”

            “Of course, thank you so much ma- Sarah, sor- um. Thank you.”

            With one last firm nod, Sarah raised an eyebrow. “Well? Be gone with you then, unless you want to help peel potatoes?”

            Timothea laughed a little. “Maybe next time—I should see about those traps.”

 

[1] International Union of Pure and Applied Chemistry- “IUPAC is the universally-recognized authority on chemical nomenclature and terminology…” https://iupac.org/what-we-do/nomenclature/

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> source for the robert boyle stuff is a rabbit hole from the wikipedia "timeline of chemistry history"


	8. In Which Anxiety Dropkicks Timmie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Content warning! Anxiety, executive dysfunction, descending panic loops, panic attacks, etc. Be safe my friends. Not putting a full chapter summary because...content warning. That pretty much sums it up anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning! Anxiety, executive dysfunction, descending panic loops, panic attacks, etc. Be safe my friends.  
> -  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Girl Genius and make no claims of such. I write fic for fun and to show my love for the comic. I make no money off of this and do not want to. My works are not approved by, sponsored by or affiliated with Studio Foglio LLC or Airship Entertainment.

            Timmie woke up. The sun was shining through her eyelids, and the thick blanket she was snuggled up in was making her uncomfortably warm. She should really get up.

            Her chest clenched, and she curled up into a ball, refusing to open her eyes. _Oh no, not again._

She should eat breakfast.

            They were probably expecting her in the lab.

            But. Would they really notice if she missed a day? They’d done just fine before she showed up, and she didn’t really belong there after all.

            She really needed to get up.

            Maybe they’d be relieved if she didn’t show up. They could go back to their teacher-and-apprentice dynamic with nobody in the way.

            They were going to think she was a slacker. That she had no work ethic.

            Would a day off really be so bad?

            She _really needed to get up_.

            _Get up._

_Get out of bed Timothea. What the f*** what the f*** why can’t I get up. Why does this always happen_. Her chest clenched tighter. _“Angel of Fate” my a**, what kind of a scientist are you? a fake, that’s what you are, you can’t even get out of bed and go to the lab! you’re lazy. not even a real scientist, you have no degree back home and you’re not training with anyone here. you’re never going to amount to anything you just sit here freeloading off the king because what? you got kidnapped? BIG WHOOP._

            She opened her eyes, and sat up. Her breath hitched, and she recognized the signs of an impending panic attack. _Oh no, oh NO. Come on, deep breaths Timmie, it’s gonna be okay, you got this Tim-tam, come on…f*** f*** F***._ Normally this would be when she called her dad to talk her through it but THAT WASN’T AN OPTION, WAS IT?

            Tears started to stream down her face, and she clutched her knees as her heart pounded and her breaths started coming faster.

            Yeah…she wasn’t going in today.

            _useless pointless why even bother nobody cares nobody even knows nobody’s here to help-_

_

            Simon frowned. Timmie hadn’t come into the lab yet today at all. She’d been there every day for a month, then suddenly nothing. By the time lunch came around, he was genuinely concerned.

Master Van Rijn didn’t seem to care, muttering something about predictable flakey women when Simon brought it up. But Timmie cared a _lot_ about her plants—surely she wouldn’t just leave them? He’d checked her notes to make sure she wasn’t planning this, then watered them for her; hopefully she wouldn’t be upset about him opening her notebook. He hadn’t understood half of it anyway, but some people got really picky about their notes.

When he finished eating and she hadn’t materialized to frown at him for having a sandwich in one hand and using the other to clean his screws, he resolved to check on her.

He couldn’t just…knock on her door though, no matter how concerned he was. That would be drastically inappropriate. What if she was sick and…well, in a state of…undress? He would hate to make her uncomfortable.

After some consideration, he decided to check the kitchens and library first. Maybe she’d gone to check her traps and gotten caught up in conversation, or lost herself in a book. She’d hardly be the first to do so.

If he didn’t find her then, he could ask someone to check on her. She had to be friends with some ladies or something, right? Or he could grab a maid or something.

            Yeah. That would work.

_

            Nobody in the kitchen had seen Timmie for a few days, and they’d made it very clear that he was unwelcome there. The librarian hadn’t seen her, and twenty minutes had confirmed that she wasn’t hiding in one of the cozy reading nooks. On his way out, he bumped into a young woman who looked vaguely familiar. He’d…he’d seen her talk to Timmie, right?

            “Pardon me, do you have a minute?” She blinked, and looked at him assessingly.

            “May I ask whom I have the pleasure of speaking to?”

            “Simon Voltaire, apologies. You know Lady Timothea, right?”

            She frowned. “I have had the pleasure of a few conversations with her, but I wouldn’t say we’re particularly close. And if you want to know if she’s told me anything about the future or to bribe an introduction out of me you can walk away right now.”

            He started back at her vehement tone. “What? Oh, no! I know her already, I’m just worried about her. She didn’t show up to the labs this morning, and I can’t find her anywhere. I was looking for someone who could check her room if you wouldn’t mind? It’s just, I don’t know if she’s sick, this is…she’s been there _every day_ , even if she’s a bit late. I know I’m probably blowing this out of proportion and she’s just having a day off, I haven’t known her very long, but…it’s odd.”

            The woman’s eyes widened for a moment, then she nodded firmly. “I was actually about to check the library for her myself. We’d planned to eat lunch together, and she didn’t show up. I’d assumed she simply got caught up in work like you sorts tend to do.” She grinned knowingly. “Miklós is the _worst_ about it.” At his questioning look, she clarified, “My twin brother.” Sobering, she stepped back. “If you’re sure she’s not in the library, of course I’ll go check. I assume you’ll be in the Hall of Wizards?”

            He nodded. “Yeah, I should…Master Van Rijn is probably going to chew me out already, I’ve been looking for her for awhile. We’re in the third lab from the side by the residential wing.”

            She nodded sharply. “Alright then.” Turning to go, she twisted her head back and smirked. “I’m Mathilde Wulfenbach, by the way. Since you forgot to ask.”

            She was gone before he could apologize.

_

Timmie wasn’t sure what time it was. Definitely after lunch, given that the sun was no longer shining through the windows. She’d missed her meeting with Mathilde. Back into old habits, the one person who’s trying to build a friendship that isn’t about politics and you flake on her, of course you did! of course! Never could keep up any friendship that requires EFFORT, could you? you don’t _deserve_ friends.

            She’d gotten herself out of bed eventually, but hadn’t mustered up the will to eat anything. She was shaky from the crying, and probably dehydrated, but at least she’d made it through the panic attack eventually.

            By herself.

            She’d _never_ had a panic attack and not called her dad during or after it. Not ever. Oh gosh she missed him so much, and her mom—their touchy-feelyness had bothered her at the time but she would do anything to be tackle-hugged by her brothers one more time. _Oh gosh_. She just wanted a _hug_.

            She’d gone numb eventually. She laid on the floor in her nightgown, hugging a pillow to her chest, and felt empty and useless.

            She had no idea how long it had been when a knock sounded at the door, startling her. “Who is it?” she called.

            “Timmie? It’s Mathilde. Are you okay?” A familiar voice called through the door.

            “I’m fine!” She yelled back, sitting up immediately and dropping the pillow. Heh. Power of hiding what’s wrong always wins out over the power of anxiety.

            “I missed you at lunch, is something wrong?”

            “I just wasn’t feeling very well, I’m so sorry! Maybe we could try again tomorrow.”

            “Do you need anything? I could get the doctor, or maybe some tea? Nobody’s seen you all day, do you need some food?”

            “No thank you, I think I just need to rest.”

            Mathilde was silent for a moment, before calling through the door again. “Can I come in? I just…everyone is really worried, and I think it would help if I could tell them that I saw you and you’re okay. Simon was looking everywhere for you when you didn’t show up to the lab this morning.”

            “I’m _fine_.” Since when had she even met Simon? Timmie had to admit that it felt…really good to know that people had noticed she was gone and worried, but she also felt even worse that she’d worried them.

            And now she’d snapped at her when she was just _worried_. Real great friendship there, Timmie. You piece of _crap_ they deserve better than you. Flakey, rude, self-centered-

            She leaned forward and keened softly, burying her face in her knees…then jolted up as she heard the door open. Mathilde stood there for a moment, then her face softened and she slipped inside, closing the door behind her. “I’m sorry about coming in without permission but you sounded really upset and you’ve been alone all day and I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

            Timmie blinked up at her for a moment, then burst into fresh sobs. She felt Mathilde’s arms around her, and collapsed into the human contact she’d been craving.

-

            Clearly her current way of dealing with the situation wasn’t cutting it.

            Where were qualified trained therapists with a modern understanding of mental health when you needed them?

            _2018_ is where. Cowards.

            Probably time for that conversation she’d been putting off with the priest, then.

            Yeet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Last semester was rough, thus the lack of update. But also? Anxiety brain is a liar, and your friends do actually care).


End file.
